The Swamp
by HugoPutgart
Summary: Follow a team of unlikely companions as their travels take them into a dreaded swamp south of Reikland, in search of a terrible foe.  Based on a Warhammer Fantasy rpg campaign started years ago by a group of my friends that has endured to this day.
1. Chapter 1

**The Swamp**

With a powerful roar Dimzad the Mighty crashed through the door. The giant dwarf stepped into the cabin. He was met by a chorus of screeching, and the strong the odor of rotting carcass. Tilting back his mail coif he surveyed the room before him.

The inside of the windowless cabin was one large room filled with all manner of the strange. Dozens of deceased creatures were strung up from the ceiling in various stages of decay. Many sported missing chunks of flesh and bite marks across their bodies. Several more living creatures were scattered about the room in ramshackle cages, begging to be set free. A shoddy wooden table and two chairs, as well as a cot stuffed with bird feathers, were the only pieces of furniture in the cabin. Upon the table sat a freshly filleted fish. A rusty knife and a carving block lay next to it. Leaning in one of the corners was a fishing pole, a couple of spears, and a rotting scrap of net. Across the walls of the cabin there were makeshift shelves littered with heirlooms and oddities of the surrounding swamp. Stones, bones, teeth, wooden carvings, plants, mushrooms, and vials of foul liquids were amongst the assortment. The layer of filth on the floor acted as carpeting, as well as a home for the rats and insects that infested the abode.

"Dimzad, is anyone home?" asked a charming voice, in perfectly spoken Reikspiel.

The dwarf simply replied with a grunt. A response he usually chose to use.

Gottfried Gustav stepped into the cabin behind Dimzad. The man was of medium build, with a large nose, a mole on his cheek, and pox marks covering his face. Despite these distinguishing marks, he had sharp features and a presence about him that seemed fitting for one of noble birth. Across his perfectly polished breastplate hung a steel symbol of a twin tailed comet; the holy symbol of Sigmar, God and protector of the Empire. A resplendent cloak was draped across his back, and in his hands he held an expertly crafted sword and shield.

Gottfried and Dimzad began patrolling the room for any signs or clues as to who its inhabitants were.

"Do not touch anything," said Gottfried, "Whoever lives here would not appreciate us looting their belongings. Besides, whoever it is seems to have quite an affinity with this swamp. Perhaps they would be kind enough to help us find what we came here for."

"Troll blood!" shouted Dimzad, irritating the caged creatures surrounding them.

After a few more minutes Gottfried could not resist the urge to vomit any longer, and stepped out of the cabin. A few paces away on a pile of firewood sat an odd looking elf, intently focused on the large book in his hands.

The elf wore a dark red robe with black trimming. He held barely any possessions, save the book in his hands, a sack strung to his back, and various pouches hanging from his belt. His slender features were befitting of an elf from the Laurelorn forest. His long brown hair was streaked with strands of fiery red, and his face was covered in jet black tattoos that seemed to swirl towards its center.

"Avandril, no one seems to be inside," exclaimed Gottfried.

Avandril Dol'wen made no response and continued to study his book. Gottfried knew the mysterious elf had heard him, but Avandril did not seem to care. For expanding his knowledge of the wind of fire, and continuing to test the limits of his power were all that the wizard lived for.

Dimzad emerged from the cabin gnawing on the flank of the fish from the table. He drew a flask from his belt and washed down his meal with the last of his Dwarven Spirits. Angered by the thought of enjoying no more alcohol on his journey, he hurled the container into the marshland.

"There is no troll here!" Dimzad yelled, "Let us continue into this swamp!"

"What are you yelling about you oaf?" came a voice from the undergrowth. A muscular man covered from head to toe in weaponry stepped out of the tree line. "There is a large raft on the shoreline of that stream. I also saw tracks in the mud. Whatever lives here appears to be human, and I don't think he will be too happy that you killed his dog, dwarf."

"The beast attacked me first!" shouted Dimzad, as he pointed at the dead canine. "Just be glad I did not drive my weapon into the neck of that cursed elf!"

The dwarf despised the elven race, and despised magic users even more. For these reasons he carried a deep hatred for Avandril. That would never change.

"I say we wait for the one who calls this cabin home," said Gottfried. "This swamp is enormous. There is no telling where we could find a troll, or even if one lurks here. All we have is the word of a farmer, who most likely saw this monster in the bottom of his ale mug. Speaking to someone who is familiar with this area would be most helpful. What do you propose Felix?"

"I propose we continue onward," replied the man who had just emerged from the undergrowth. "I am not being paid for this journey by the hour. The raft is big enough to hold the four of us, and travelling over water would be considerably faster then trudging through these marshes."

Upon hearing that, Dimzad began to march towards the stream with a determined look upon his battle scarred face.

"Very well," said Gottfried, "Sigmar would not approve of his children taking what is not theirs. However, I'm sure he wouldn't mind us borrowing the raft to root out and destroy the evil which plagues our mighty empire."

Rolf slowly lifted his head out of the water. He watched as the four adventurers climbed on to his raft. He fingered the shaft of his longbow as he greedily eyed their belongings. "That's it, continue into the swamp," he whispered to himself. A hungry grin crept across his scaly face, for he knew where the stream would lead them.


	2. Chapter 2

The raft had been slowly drifting down the stream for hours on end. The stream had drawn the four adventurers deep into the heart of the foreboding swamp.

The smell of rotting vegetation filled the air at every turn. Dark black water congealed into acrid smelling muck where the stream deposited its sediment at the banks. Huge reeds grew out of the mud; looming over the heads of the adventurers. Farther up the bank, beyond the reeds grew ancient trees draped in a thick, pale-green moss. The peaks of the towering grey mountains could be seen in the distance. The stream was littered with floating debris, logs, tree stumps, boulders, and the occasional alligator patrolling slightly beneath the murky surface. Hundreds of insects flew through the air; skimming across the surface of the water. The sounds of the marshland, perhaps, were more eerie than the view. Insects seemed to all chime in, adding to the melody sung by frogs, and other creatures beyond the visible banks of the stream.

The group had floated past many signs of intelligent life. They began to spot strange carvings on the trees, and a grouping of makeshift lean-tos. They had also noticed idols carved into the trunks of trees, faces of heathen gods they knew all to well; Gork and Mork; the patron deities of the greenskins.

Felix was intently focused on steering the poorly crafted raft through the obstacle course offered by the swamp; with only a sturdy pole in hand, it took all of his concentration to avoid wrecking outright, or unintentionally navigating his team in to the jaws of a hungry gator.

Felix looked every bit the part of a hardened mercenary. Behind his thick beard could be seen a dark tanned face. His features revealed signs of a Tilean Lineage; he was well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular build. A scar ran from his right temple, across his mouth, to the bottom of his left of his jaw. He wore a uniform of black and purple atop a full suit of chainmail. A fine oak crossbow was hung from a meticulously fashioned leather strap on his back. Across his chest was a row of various daggers and knives that each appeared to serve a different purpose. A masterwork cudgel, a bullwhip, and a pistol were all strapped to his belt. On both of his legs hung sets of bolas, used to ensnare his opponents before delivering the fatal blow.

"Come out and play Troll!" screamed Dimzad at the top of his lungs.

"Quiet you ass," responded Felix, "Whatever foul creatures lurk past these waters have just been alerted to our presence."

Dimzad let out fierce snort and slammed his gauntlets into the raft.

"I don't understand why we followed this maddened dwarf on his fool's errand, Gottfried. I would rather be spending my time sipping on ole Bugman's ale in the presence of beautiful women."

"Felix, I have already told you I will pay you another ten gold crowns upon our safe return," said Gottfried, "This quest must be carried out. It is the will of our esteemed Dwarven colleague, and of Sigmar."

"Well stripe my back and call me pigsy. I didn't realize ole' Sigs agreed with the ramblings of an insane Dwarf."

"Do not mock my faith, Felix. If you wish to abandon your companions you are free to step off of this raft and wade your way back into the Reik."

At that moment Avandril looked up from his tome for the first time since the team had set out on the raft. He began scanning the tree line.

"What do your keen eyes see?" asked Gottfried.

"Goblins," replied Avandril.

Dimzad the Mightly suddenly erupted with a battle cry loud enough to shake the very peaks of the grey mountains. With great axe in hand, he leapt off of the raft and disappeared with a splash under the murky waters. The raft rocked violently nearly tipping completely over. The Dwarf's head popped out of the water, much closer to the shoreline. He clawed his way through the mud and charged in to the darkness.

"Stay with the raft," commanded Gottfried, as he turned toward Avandril and Felix, and slipped in to the waters to follow behind Dimzad. It was his duty to look out for the Dwarf, otherwise Dimzad would most likely never find his way back to the stream. He was also looking forward to hunting goblins, the most hated enemy of Sigmar.

Felix turned to Avandril. "I cannot believe this," he exclaimed, "that Dwarf is going to find himself in the gardens of Morr, and Gottfried will be accompanying him."

Felix and Avandril pulled the raft to the shore and began to wait. During that time, a wandering goblin had come within eyesight of the mercenary. The greenskin was promptly slain by a pair of well placed crossbow bolts.

After what seemed like an eternity, Felix and Avandril heard the clinking sound of armor. Their companions appeared from out of the thicket. Gottfried was holding his upper right arm. The crimson color of fresh blood was seeping from a wound below his shoulder. Dimzad held his gore-stained great axe in one hand, and a crude spear with the skewered heads of six goblins in the other.

"It's about time," stated Felix, "we were beginning to think you weren't going to make it."

The companions took their places on the raft and continued onward down the stream.

Within a matter of minutes, the dwarf began snoring loudly. Dimzad the Mighty had drifted off to sleep. Moments before this, he had jammed the goblin spear between two boards on the vessel; a grim warning to any greenskins foolish or daring enough to mount an attack.

Gottfried Gustav looked over at his slumbering companion. The Dwarf was huge; a giant among his kind. At nearly five and a half feet tall he stood as high as many men Gottfried knew. He was nearly as wide as he was round, with corded muscles bulging out of every inch of his body. Dimzad wore a set of mismatched armor; plate on his head and arms, chain on his legs and body, and leather filling any gaps left between. The Warrior slept with his Dwarven great axe nestled in his arms. He loved his axe; it was his most prized possession. Several hand axes hung from his belt. Before he had fallen asleep, Dimzad had removed his helm. The face of the warrior alone was enough to strike fear in the hearts of his enemies. There were more scars to be seen then unblemished skin. He had but one eye. The other was an empty socket, filled with a dense, mottled tissue. What few teeth the Dwarf still had were randomly scattered about his mouth as trees in a forest. On his mostly bald head grew but a scant few patches of orange hair; the rest would never grow again- the entire side of Dimzad's left skull had been replaced with an iron plate.

"Do you think he will ever be the same?" asked Gottfried, as he wrapped a piece of his cloak to the wound on his arm.

"No," responded Felix, "Something changed inside of him that day in the badlands. He now only lives for one thing; to kill. I fear the next time he snaps on us again. He grows in strength with the passing moons. My bolas can only hold him for so long."

"No matter what happens, it is my duty to protect Dimzad. He is the greatest warrior I have ever seen. We need him. Sigmar needs him. He did not attack us by his own will."

"Just know this, Gottfried: if the dwarf comes after us again I cannot promise I will spare his life. His mind is not stable."

A tear came to Gottfried's eye as he thought back to the good times spent with his old friend. Dimzad the Mighty; warrior of the mountains of Karaz-a Karak.


	3. Chapter 3

Rolf had been following the group for nearly two days now. He had stayed behind the tree line, well hidden in the undergrowth. He knew this land like the back of his hand. Rolf thought the man with all of the beautiful weapons had spotted him once, but he must not have. Any moment now they would arrive at the lair of Thra'ak, king of the swamp.

The hunter could barely contain his excitement at the thought of looting the trinkets of these adventurers. He waited a long time for ones such as this to enter his home. It was almost as if the chaos gods had granted him a gift for all his hard work. They would stand no match against the terrible troll. Rolf readied his longbow. If any of the group decided to flee from the monster, they would not get very far.

Gottfried Gustav became lost in his own thoughts. The swamp was beginning to take a toll on his group. He had done what he could to keep their morale up, but he began to fear that they all might not make it out alive. They were running low on rations and fresh water. The mosquitoes were relentless. All of the torches were burned out the night before in an attempt to repel the swarm of insects.

Thoughts of his days as a peasant on his parents' farm in Wissenland began to cloud Gottfried's mind. He had come such a long way since then. After the greenskins had butchered his family, he had sworn an oath to Sigmar. From that day forth he vowed to protect the empire from the forces of chaos. Gottfried was not blessed with the skill set of a great warrior, so he had decided to become a politician. He moved to Altdorf and began working his way into the courts of the noble born. All he found there was corruption- it sickened him. The day eventually came when the politician realized there was nothing he could do with his words and values that could help his people. Chaos had infested even the government.

Then the most unlikely group of outcasts had fallen into his lap. His heart ached for each of his three companions. Sigmar had spoken to the politician one night and finally made clear to him his duty in life. He knew he had to protect these three adventurers, and lead them against evil. Every day Gottfried fought an inner struggle. The challenge of leading this team was more difficult than anything he had gone through before. He knew if he could keep the four of them united he could accomplish great things in the name of his god. Gottfried had taken up sword and shield. Using his skills from the courts of Altdorf, he pledged to lead his team; to protect the glorious empire.

Gottfried's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a disgusting smell. Not the smell of the swamp, to which he had grown used to since they had at entered this dreaded land. It was something else. The aroma of vomit, mixed with rotting flesh.

"What in world is this foul stench?" asked Felix, "Look! There is a cave up ahead."

As if on cue, an ear piercing roar carried out from the rocky cavern. Out from the shadows stepped a hideous creature. Standing nearly three men tall, the beast looked as if it was born from the swamp itself. Its skin was covered in a coating of sediment and slime. Vegetation and fish carcasses were among the detritus hanging from its body. It carried an uprooted tree with the rotting skull of an alligator wedged through the top. Countless goblin heads hung were strung to its shoulders and waist in varying states of decay. A crown of bones sat atop its enormous head.

"I King Thra'ak!" roared the gigantic greenskin, "You tasty man-flesh!"

Dimzad's eyes widened. He could not contain the rage boiling inside of him. The foe he waited so long to meet in combat stood before him. Before the companions could plan their next action, the dwarf was already in the stream splashing towards the troll. His axe was held high, and his battle cries were almost louder than the roar of the monster.

As Dimzad charged at his prize, Felix let fly a bolt from his crossbow. The projectile stuck into the belly of Thra'ak. The troll simply laughed and pulled it out as it readied its horrific club. The team watched as the wound closed before their very eyes.

Gottfried knew what he must do, but could not seem to move his body. His veins felt as if they were freezing up. The King of Trolls had unearthed a primal fear within him. From behind him, the politician could hear the arcane chanting of Avandril. The subtle warmth of the wind of fire began to slowly cascade through the marshes as the elf summoned arcane energy.

Dimzad closed the gap between himself and the troll. Before he could swing his axe the weight of the giant club smashed in to his rib cage. He could feel his bones crunch as the fearsome alligator skull smashed through his armor. Ignoring the pain he shouted an oath to the warrior god Grimnir, and drove his great axe into his opponent's leg.

Seeing his companion absorb the ferocious blow, Gottfried shook off the fear consuming him. The politician saw Felix reloading as he leapt in to the stream. He said a prayer as he trudged through the water to aid the dwarf.

Felix suddenly felt a sharp pain in his back. He reached behind and touched what felt like the shaft of an arrow. His chainmail had prevented any serious damage from being done. Breaking it off above the wound, he spun around and began scanning his surroundings. He spotted a body high above in a tree as it leaned outwards to fire another arrow. Felix dove in the water and the arrow pierced into the wood of the raft. He glided underneath the surface of the stream and swam towards the shoreline. Once the mercenary felt like he was close to land he emerged from the water. Looking towards the tree he saw the tip of another arrow pointing directly towards him. Before he could act, his enemy let loose a shot. At this close of range, the arrow pierced Felix's armor, driving deep into his thigh. The pain was excruciating. Felix did his best to ignore the burning in his leg. He aimed his crossbow at the archer and fired. He could not tell whether or not he made contact, for it was difficult to see through the foliage. After a few seconds, the mercenary saw a figure fall from the treetop. He heard a soft thud as the body slammed into the mud below.

Thra'ak raised his gigantic club above his head. Dimzad struggled to free his great axe from the fetid meat of the troll's leg. As the wound began to heal shut, the dwarf was able to wrestle his mighty weapon free. As soon as it came out, the alligator skull swung down again on the warrior. Dimzad instinctively stepped sideways as the club scraped past his shoulder and drove itself into the dirt of the swamp bank.

"In the name of Sigmar you shall be banished from this hellish swamp!" screamed Gottfried as he plunged his blade deep into the troll's side.

Back on the raft, Avandril furiously chanted as the scintillating colors of the wind of fire swirled about his head. Wrestling with the Aethyr, the wizard lifted his hands into the air in an attempt to call forth the flames. The winds of magic were highly unpredictable in the tainted area around the swamp, however, as Avandril soon discovered when his nose began to bleed, and his hair stood on end. The wizard had tempted fate once again, and his body was paying the price.

The king of the swamp chuckled at the failed conjuring attempt of the puny elf.

"Soon you fill my belly!" it shouted. A gruesome gurgling noise sounded from Thra'ak's innards. Vomit began cascading from its gaping maw, covering Gottfried Gustav where he stood. The vomit seeped beneath his armor, and burned through his skin. Going into shock, the politician slipped beneath the murky waters.

Seeing the only person he had ever cared for fall to the trolls disgusting vomit, Dimzad lost all control. The dwarf bellowed out a booming roar. He sliced his great axe through the monster's wrist, severing its hand. Putrid green ooze began to pour from the wound.

Felix drew his cudgel and a long hunting knife. He crept towards where he saw his opponent fall. Once he came to the location, the hunter leaped up from the undergrowth, stabbing a long spear at the mercenary. Felix's reflexes were slightly quicker. He parried the thrust with his knife and smashed the spear in half with his cudgel.

The creature he stared at was that of chaos. The thing looked as though it was once human. It now had patches of blotchy scales covering the entirety of its body. It had a third eye on its forehead that darted back and forth. A long tale slithered from its backside.

Felix watched as the hunter turned around and began to flee. Drawing a bola from his leg, he aimed and hurled the snare. It wrapped around his enemy, trapping its arms to its body. The weights on the ends caused enough force to knock the foe to the ground. Darting forward, Felix put one boot on the hunter's back. He raised his cudgel in both hands, bludgeoning the creature in its temple.

Even after losing its hand, Thra'ak did not seem to be fazed. It dropped its club and grabbed the dwarf by the throat. It opened its mouth and sunk its gnarled teeth into its opponents shoulder.

Dimzad was lost in his rage, simply ignoring the pain of Thra'aks destructive bite. He swung his axe, but the troll's reach was too long. The attack could not quite make contact.

Just then a fierce crackle sounded through the swamp, as the air grew warm and charged with energy. The wind of fire, at long last responding to his summons, coursed through the body of Avandril. Three shimmering fireballs shot out of the wizard's hands. They arced forward, crashing into the giant greenksin. The troll let out a blood curling screech as the fireballs melted its hide. It reeled onto its knees, and the pain of the flames shot through its body.

Seizing the moment, Dimzad ducked beneath the monster's grasp.

"For Grimnir!" he thundered.

Dimzad swung the great axe at the face of his hated enemy. He drove the blade deep into the troll's skull. Thra'ak let out a final gurgle, collapsed, and drew his last breath at the feet of the dwarf. Consumed by his rage, Dimzad began hacking and slashing at the enormous body that lay before him. He did not stop until all that remained were scattered remnants of flesh and bone.

Rolf awoke to the taste of metal.

"Nice try," said Felix, "You would have had me pinned if your aim was just a bit better." The mercenary cocked back the hammer of his pistol. "Any last words?"

The hunter squirmed as he attempted to form a sentence with the firearm in his mouth.

"What was that? I can't understand you scum."

Those were the last words Rolf would ever hear.


	4. Chapter 4

Avandril Dol'wen knelt beside the unconscious body of his fallen companion. The raft continued to float down the stream. Hours had passed since the battle with the troll. The wounds delivered to Gottfried from the troll's vomit were beginning to fester. The wizard knew if action was not taken, the politician would not survive their journey out of the swamp.

"Do something, elf," grumbled Dimzad.

The bright wizard shot a bitter stare at the dwarf, and began to chant. He waved his hands in arcane gestures above Gottfried's body. Within a matter of seconds, the politician's melted flesh began to glow. The smell of burning skin ensued, as his wounds seared. Smoke filled the air around the raft. Avandril continued to chant until his ritual of cauterization was complete. Gottfried would be forever scarred, but the spell would destroy the infection caused by the troll.

After inspecting his work, the wizard nodded with approval. He slumped on to the raft and reopened his book.

"Look, the troll left you a present to remember him by," chuckled Felix. The mercenary reached out his hand and plucked a large, curved tooth out of Dimzad's shoulder.

The dwarf roared, and snatched the tooth from Felix's hand. He spat and hurled it into the water.

"Now, now there cutie. Don't go twisting your panties in a wad."

Dimzad drew his axe and eyed the mercenary.

Felix thought it best to not further tempt the dwarf. Without Gottfried to calm him down, there was no telling what would unfold.

Another day passed by. Two of the three adventurers were eager to set foot out of the wretched place, for Dimzad simply didn't care. A light began to fill the sky, signaling the dawn of their fourth morning in the marsh. Felix stood to his feet. He stared down the length of the stream.

"A cloud approaches from the south," said the mercenary.

The companions glanced in the direction Felix was pointing. They saw what appeared to be a wispy, black cloud. It grew larger as seconds went by. Dimzad and Felix readied their weapons. Once the cloud reached the raft it exploded into a screeching ball of dark feathers. Several dozen hideously mutated ravens began clawing and pecking at the companions. The birds had all manner of chaos decorating their bodies. Some sprouted disgusting tentacles from beneath their ruffles. Others had rotting human-like digits in place of claw, beak, or wing.

Dimzad began swinging his axe, as Felix grabbed the neck of Gottfried with his offhand. The mercenary drug the politician into the water and held him there as he defended himself with his cudgel. Avandril fell to the floor of the raft and removed a dagger from beneath his robes.

The companions desperately hacked at the cloud of birds. Many began to drop from the sky. Within a couple of minutes, the surviving ravens flew for the trees. Only one remained behind, perched on the shoulder of Avandril. It grabbed a hold of the wizard's ear with its jagged and elongated beak. A sickening ripping sound could be heard as the mutant creature tore the spell-caster's pointy ear in half from the top. It flew off into the darkness with its meal.

Avandril let out a welp, and clutched the torn remnants of his ear. His tattered red robes were darkened as blood from the wounds beneath leaked into the cloth.

Dimzad and Felix did not go unscathed either. Slashes and tears covered their skin on whatever parts of their bodies were not protected by armor.

"By Sigmar's hairy balls, could this journey get any worse?" asked Felix, as he hoisted the body of Gottfried Gustav out of the murky waters.

As if an answer from the heavens, darkness consumed the sky above. Drops of rain began to fall. Eventually the sprinkle became a downpour.

"I see," said the mercenary.


End file.
